Baldwin'* s Biographical Booklets 
THE STORY OF 

Henry W. Longfellow 

FX)R YOUNG READERS 



\ 



SPIERWIN COD^ 



WERNER SCHOOL BOOK COMPANY 

CHICAGO NEW VOllK BOSTON" 



SECOt 



BALDWIN'S BIOGRAPHICAL BOOKLETS 

THE STORY 

OF 

HENRY W. LONGFELLOW 

FOR YOUNG READERS 



BY , 

SHERWIN CODY 




WERNER SCHOOL BOOK COMPANY 

NEW YORK CHICAGO BOSTON 



"1 



GOPIfct. Htii 



Baliwin's BiograpMcal BooHet Series, 

Biographical Stories of Great Americans 
for Young Americans 

EDITED BY 

James Baldwin, Ph.D. 

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Copyright, 1899, by Werner School Book Company 

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CONTENTS 

CHAPTER PAGE 

I. A Great Poet ...... 5 

II. Longfellow's Ancestors ... 7 

III. Longfellow's Boyhood . . . . ' 10 

IV. Something about the Tlmes when Long- 

fellow WAS Young . . . .16 

V. College Days . . . . . .20 

VI. The Young Professor . . . .25 

VII. The "Being Beauteous" ' . . . 29 

VIII. The Craigie House . . . . .32 

IX. The Five of Clubs . . , . . 37 " 

X. Longfellow Becomes a Famous Poet . 40 

XI. How Some of the Great Poems were AVritten 45 

XII. The Poet's Second Marriage . . -Si 

XIII. Evangeline, Hiawatha, and the Courtship 

of Miles Standish . „ . . 56 

XIV. The Good Old Man ..... 62 



es 




HENRY W. LONGFELLOW. 



LONGFELLOW 



CHAPTER I 

A GREAT POET 

Lives of great men all remind us 
We can make our lives sublime, 

And, departing, leave behind us 
Footprints on the sands of time ; — 

Footprints, that perhaps another. 
Sailing o'er life's solemn main, 

A forlorn and shipwrecked brother, 
Seeing, shall take heart again. 

You doubtless remember how Robinson Crusoe 
one day found footprints in the sand on the 
shore of his desert island. ' ' I am not alone ! " 
said he to himself. ' * Another human being has 
been here before me." Soon afterward he had 
the good fortune to find his ' ' man Friday. " 

In geology we learn of footprints in rocks. Liv- 
ing beings ages ago walked on the soft sand, and 



that sand, lying for a long time undisturbed, was 
at length hardened into rock. 

The poet Longfellow has left ''footprints on the 
sands of time " in the shape of his poems, and we 
may say those poems are like footprints hard- 
ened into rock, which will last for ages. Many an 
unhappy soul, after reading the sad, sweet, beauti- 
ful verses of the ' ' Psalm of Life, " has taken heart 
to go on fighting life's battle nobly, and doing 
good instead of yielding to the temptation to be 
weak and careless. 

To realize what it is to be a great poet, think of 
the millions of boys and girls, old and young, in 
the United States, and in Great Britain and other 
foreign countries, who have learned by heart such 
famous poems as "The Village Blacksmith," 
"The Wreck of the Hesperus," and "The Build- 
ing of the Ship." You, yourself, no doubt, dear 
reader, when you want something to memorize, 
turn to a volume of Longfellow's poems. You have 
learned to love the poems: therefore let me introduce 
to you the man who first lived the poems in his own 
life, and you will certainly learn to love him, too. 



The poet was born February 27, 1807, in Port- 
land, Maine. At the time of his birth his parents 
were hving in Captain Stephenson's house, Mrs. 
Stephenson being a sister of the elder Mr. Long- 
fellow. But this was only temporarily, indeed 
only while the Stephenson family were visiting the 
West Indies. The Longfellows soon moved into 
the house of General Peleg Wadsworth, where Mrs. 
Longfellow had spent part of her girlhood. It 
is said to have been the first brick house ever 
built in Portland, and it was one of the finest. 
Here they lived until the baby grew into a man. 



CHAPTER II 



LONGFELLOW S ANCESTORS 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow belonged to a 
good old New England family. His father was a 
lawyer in Portland, Maine; his grandfather had 
been a schoolmaster; and his great-grandfather 
had been a blacksmith. 



8 

The Longfellows were most of them tall, strong 
men, who had been soldiers, sailors and the hke, 
and none of them had shown the slightest talent 
for poetry. But Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 
was small and delicate, though he always stood 
very erect and was a finely formed man. 

His grandfather on his mother's side was Gen- 
eral Peleg Wadsworth, who was once captured by 
the British and came near being shipped off to 
England; but he escaped and joined his wife and 
family as they were going to Boston. The poet 
also had an uncle Henry (for whom he was 
named), who had been a lieutenant with Com- 
modore Preble and was killed at Tripoli a 
short time before his namesake was born. An- 
other uncle was a second lieutenant on the frigate 
Constitution when it captured the British ship 
Guerriere in 1812. 

On his mother's side, Longfellow could trace his 
origin straight back to John Alden and Priscilla 
Mullens, who came over in the Mayflower, and 
whom he has made immortal in his poem of ' ' The 
Courtship of Miles Standish, " 



In short, Longfellow belonged to quite an 
aristocratic family, as New England aristocracy 
goes, and it was a fairly wealthy family also. 
His father was once a member of Congress, and 
afterward was chosen to make the speech welcom- 
ing Lafayette when he visited Portland in 1825. 

The house where Longfellow was born is still 
standing and is well known to the children of Port- 
land. In the old days it was in the fashionable 
part of the town, facing the ocean beach. But 
now land has been filled in for a long distance out 
into the ocean, and on this new land stand the 
engine-house and tracks of the Grand Trunk rail- 
way. So the house is now in a very poor neigh- 
borhood. 

One day a teacher in a Portland school asked 
her pupils if they knew where Longfellow was born. 

''I know," said a little girl. ''In Patsey Con- 
nor's bedroom." 

Many poor people lived in the house, and the 
room where Longfellow was born was now Patsey 
Connor's bedroom; but all the children of Port- 
land knew where it was, 



lO 



CHAPTER III 

Longfellow's boyhood 

Our poet seems to have been a quiet, well 
behaved child, rather slight, but always standing 
up perfectly straight. He was careful of his clothes, 
and learned his lessons well. Some people seem 
to think that a very good little boy will never grow 
up to be worth anything. Certainly it is a good 
thing to have plenty of spirit and energy; but 
Longfellow is an example of a boy who was as good 
as George Washington is said to have been, and 
he grew up to be the greatest poet in America, just 
as Washington grew up to be the greatest presi- 
dent. 

When he was three years old little Henry was 
sent to school. For a good many years a certain 
Ma'am Fellows had kept a school in a little brick 
schoolhouse not far from the Wadsworth mansion, 
and it was she who taught the poet his first 
lessons. Ma'am Fellows was a firm believer in 
the doctrine that ' ' one should never smile in school 
hours." Years afterward Longfellow told what he 



II 

remembered of her. ''My recollections of my 
first teacher, " said the poet, " are not vivid: but I 
recall that she was bent on giving me a right start 
in life; that she thought that even very young chil- 
dren should be made to know the difference be- 
tween right and wrong; and that severity of 
manner was more practical than gentleness of 
persuasion. She inspired me with one trait, — that 
is, a genuine respect for my elders. " 

He afterward went to several other schools, in- 
cluding one in Love Lane. When he grew a little 
older he had to write compositions, and there is a 
story about the first one he ever wrote. His 
teacher told him to write a composition; but he 
thought he couldn't do it. 

"But you can write words, can you not?" asked 
the teacher. 

" Yes," was the response. 

''Then you can put words together?" 

"Yes, sir." 

' ' Then, " said the instructor, ' ' you may take 
your slate and go out behind the schoolhouse, and 
there you can find something to write about; and 



12 

then you can tell what it is, what it is for, and what 
is to be done with it; and that will be a composi- 
tion. " 

Henry took his slate and went out. He went 
behind Mr. Finney's barn, which chanced to be 
near; and, seeing a fine turnip growing, he thought 
he knew what it was, what it was for, and what 
would be done with it. 

A half hour had been allowed young Henry for 
his first undertaking in writing compositions. 
Before that time had expired he carried in his work, 
very neatly written on his slate. It was so well done 
that his teacher was both surprised and pleased. 

There has been published in the newspapers a 
very funny poem about a turnip, and some have 
said that it is the one which Longfellow wrote at 
this time. But the truth is, he never wrote it, for 
that first composition was rubbed off the slate and 
lost forever. This other poem was written years 
afterward by somebody for a joke. Here is the 
poem, however, for you to laugh about. You will 
clearly see that Longfellow could not have writ- 
ten it himself. 



13 
MR. FINNEY'S TURNIP 

Mr. Finney had a turnip, 

And it grew, and it grew; 
And it grew behind the barn. 

And the turnip did no harm. 

And it grew and it grew, 

Till it could grow no taller; 
Then Mr. Finney took it up, 

And put it in the cellar. 

There it lay, there it lay, 

Till it began to rot; 
When his daughter Susie washed it, 

And put it in the pot. 

Then she boiled it, and she boiled it, 

As long as she was able ; 
Then his daughter Lizzie took it, 

And she put it on the table. 

Mr. Finney and his wife 

Both sat down to sup; 
And they ate, and they ate. 

Until they ate the turnip up. 

When he was only thirteen years old Longfellow 
wrote a real poem, which, though it has never been 



published, is said to have been preserved in manu- 
script. It was entitled ' 'Venice, an Italian Song. " 
The manuscript is dated "Portland Academy, 
March 17, 1820," and is signed with the full name 
of the writer. 

It was not long after this that his first published 
poem appeared. It was entitled ' ' The Battle of 
Lovell's Pond, " and was printed in one of the news- 
papers of Portland. 

There were only two papers in that city then. 
Having written the ballad very carefully and 
neatly, Henry thought he would like to see it in 
print; but he was afraid to take it to the editor. 
One of his school-mates persuaded him, however, 
and he stole up one night and dropped it into the 
editorial box. 

He waited patiently for the next issue of the 
paper, and then scanned its columns for his poem, 
which he thought surely would be there. But 
it wasn't. Many weeks passed and it did not 
appear. At last he went and asked to have his 
manuscript returned. 

It was given him and he took it over to the other 



15 

paper, the Portland Gazette, by whose editor it 
was accepted and immediately pubhshed over the 
signature '' Henry." Here are the first two stanzas: 

Cold, cold is the north wind and rude is the blast 
That sweeps like a hurricane loudly and fast, 
As it moans through the tall waving pines, lone and drear, 
Sighs a requiem sad o'er the warrior's bier. 

The war-whoop is still, and the savage's yell 

Has sunk into silence along the wild dell ; 

The din of the battle, the tumult is o'er. 

And the war-clarion's voice is now heard no more. 

After that the young poet could have his verses 
printed in that paper as often as he liked, and he 
wrote a number of pieces for this purpose. 

He went to Portland Academy, and was ready 
to enter college at fourteen. One of his teachers 
at the academy, who, no doubt, did a great deal 
to impress his young mind, was Jacob Abbott, 
the author of the ' 'Rollo Books. " Some years ago 
these were the most popular books for boys and 
girls then known, and perhaps some of the young 
people of this generation have read them. . If they 
have, they will know what fine books they are. 



i6 
CHAPTER IV 

SOMETHING ABOUT THE TIMES WHEN LONGFELLOW 
WAS YOUNG 

In the days when Longfellow was a child, people 
were just changing from the old fashioned style of 
living to ways that were new and more modern. The 
older men wore knee breeches and silk stockings 
and shoes with big buckles, and had their long 
hair gathered in a knot or ' ' club " behind. 

Those were strict Puritan days, too. Everybody 
was very careful about going to church and keeping 
Sunday, and theaters were prohibited until a few 
years later. They do say, however, that the peo- 
ple drank a good deal of Jamaica rum and did 
other things that we should not approve of to-day. 

Portland was quite a seaport, and had formerly 
enjoyed great business prosperity. But in the 
year that Longfellow was born, the embargo was 
put on shipping, and severe ' ' hard times " came 
on. It is said ' ' the grass literally grew upon the 
wharves. " 

Five years after his birth, came the war of 1812. 



17 

Fortifications were thrown up on Munjoy's Hill, 
and privateers were fitted out in the harbor. In 
his beautiful poem, * ' My Lost Youth, " Longfellow 
refers to this. 

This poem is very interesting when we think of 
the actual places to which Longfellow refers. Of 
course he is thinking of Portland when he writes: 

Often I think of the beautiful town 
That is seated by the sea; 

I can see the shadowy lines of its trees, 

And catch, in sudden gleams, 
The sheen of the far-surrounding seas. 
And islands that were the Hesperides 

Of all my boyish dreams. 

He 4c H« H< * :}« 

I remember the black wharves and the slips, 

And the sea-tides tossing free; 
And vSpanish sailors with bearded lips, 
And the beauty and mystery of the ships. 

And the magic of the sea. 

In the following lines he refers to the fortifica- 
tions that were put up when he was five years old: 



I remember the bulwarks by the shore, 

And the fort upon the hill ; 
The sunrise g-un, with its hollow roar, 
The drum-beat repeated o'er and o'er, 

And the bugle wild and shrill. 

On the 4th of September, 18 13, the Boxer, British 
brig of war, was captured off the Maine coast by the 
American brig Enterprise, and a few days later was 
brought into Portland harbor. On the next day 
both commanders, who had been killed in the 
encounter, were buried in the cemetery at the foot 
of Munjoy's Hill. The poet thus records his recol- 
lections of that event: 

I remember the sea-fight far away. 

How it thundered o'er the tide! 
And the dead captains, as they lay 
In their graves, o'erlooking the tranquil bay, 

Where they in battle died. 

While referring to this poem, it may be noted 
that Longfellow was very fond of the country, as 
well as of the sea, and he never lived in a city 
larger than Cambridge, which is really no city at 
all, but merely a college town. Near his home in 



Portland was a large piece of woodland where he 
was very fond of roaming about with some of his 
friends. He thus speaks of it in the poem: 

I can see the breezy dome of groves, 
The shadows of Deering's Woods; 
And the friendships old and the early loves 
Come back with a sabbath sound, as of doves 
In quiet neighborhoods. 

I remember the gleams and glooms that dart 

Across the schoolboy's brain; 
The song and the silence in the heart, 
That in part are prophecies, and in part 

Are longings wild and vain. 

At the end of each verse comes the beautiful 
refrain — 

And the voice of that fitful song 
Sings on, and is never still : 
"A boy's will is the wind's will. 
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." 

Several other poems were suggested by the 
sights and sounds of the poet's boyhood. One was 
"The Ropewalk, " describing a building that he 



20 

often passed. There was also a factory where 
crude pottery was made and where he went and 
watched the turning wheel that suggested to him 
many years later the beautiful poem entitled 
' ' Keramos. " 



CHAPTER V 



COLLEGE DAYS 

Longfellow went to college when he was very 
young, indeed only fourteen years old. In those 
days the requirements for entering college were not 
so severe as they are now; yet they were by no 
means easy, and only a bright scholar could 
pass the examinations. Longfellow was one of 
the bright boys. He stood second in his class. 
He had an elder brother, Stephen, who entered col- 
lege at that same time. 

His father and grandfather were graduates of 
Harvard College; but as his father was then a 
trustee of Bowdoin College, at Brunswick, Maine, 
he was sent there. It happened that in the class 



21 

which he entered there were several other youths 
who became very famous men. One was Haw- 
thorne, the greatest American novehst; and in the 
class just above was Franklin Pierce, who after- 
wards became President of the United States. 
Not quite so famous as these two was another class- 
mate of Longfellow's, John S. C. Abbott, whose 
histories for young people have been only less pop- 
ular than the ' ' Rollo Books" written by his brother, 
Jacob Abbott, a somewhat older man. 

In those days no one suspected that there were 
in that college men destined to become so great. 
Longfellow was merely an aristocratic young man 
who stood well in his classes and ' ' wrote verses as 
a pastime." The poet of the class was a young 
man named Mellen. Hawthorne was very shy and 
never learned his lessons. He studied in his own 
way, and his professors had a very good opinion of 
him, but he was not a good scholar. 

There were in college two different kinds of 
students, the country boys and the city fellows. 
The country boys were usually rough, brown, and 
not very well dressed. They would lumber along 



22 



the streets like farmers, as they were. It may 
easily be imagined that they were not rich. The 
lads from the seaports, on the other hand, the 
city fellows, had white hands and faces, were fash- 
ionably dressed, and were usually considered rich. 

Longfellow was a city lad, and had plenty of 
money. Hawthorne was more of a country fellow. 
While in college the two were not intimate. Both 
were naturally modest and shy, and each had only 
a few friends with whom he associated. But some 
years after they left college, Hawthorne sent his 
first volume of stories, the ' ' Twice-told Tales, " to 
Longfellow, then a professor at Harvard College, 
and Longfellow wrote a very kind article about it, 
which was published in the North American Review, 
It was the first worthy recognition Hawthorne had 
received, and he was very grateful to Longfellow. 
This m^ade them warm friends, and such they 
remained for the rest of their lives. 

During his first year Longfellow did most of his 
studying at home. He was doubtless a little home- 
sick at Brunswick, at first. That town is not very 
far from Portland, but it took some time to get 



there, for in those days there were no railroads. 
The two Longfellow boys went up the coast in a 
sailing boat to a town not far from Brunswick, and 
from there they went by stage. 

While in college young Henry had no great 
adventures. He was a well behaved young man, 
never hazed anybody, and was generally thought 
rather a good fellow, but not remarkable in any 
way. He wrote a good deal of poetry, which was 
printed in the United States Literary Gazette, 
without his name; but his cousin John Owen, then 
at college with him, told him to his face one day 
that poetry was not his forte. 

One other thing remains to be said of his college 
life. Though rich, he was generous toward his 
poorer classmates, and at the same time very 
modest and quiet about it. Here is one case, and 
there are a good many others. 

There was a student who had worked hard to 
finish his college course; but one day he received 
word that owing to the death of his father he would 
have to leave college and earn his own living; the 
family could spare him no more money to help him 



24 

through. This was sad news to him, for he had great 
ambitions and hopes concerning his future career. 

A friend of his, belonging to the class below 
Longfellow's, went to the poet and asked him 
if he would not head a subscription, or do some- 
thing of the kind. At this time the poet had been 
contributing pretty regularly to the United States 
Literary Gazette, and had never received any pay 
for it. Many of the poems had been copied in the 
daily and weekly papers. 

He wrote a note to the editor saying that he 
thought he deserved in the future to be paid for 
his contributions. His intention was to give the 
money to his college mate. But the editor re- 
plied that poems were generally printed gratis, 
and made some vague promises. 

This was a disappointment; but the classmate 
who tells the story, Longfellow, and his brother 
Stephen drew up a subscription paper, put down 
such sums as they could afford, and passed the 
document about among the college men. Enough 
money was raised to carry the poor fellow through 
his college course, 



25 

''For some reason or other," says his cousin John 
Owen, "the poet never hked to speak of this act of 
his earher career. He and I have talked about it, 
to be sure; but one day he suggested that the sub- 
ject be forever dropped. It was one of his pecuhar 
habits — ahvays to be doing some one a favor, and 
to wish that it be kept a profound secret." 



CHAPTER VI 



THE YOUNG PROFESSOR 

When Longfellow graduated from college he 
was a young man of nineteen, slender, well built, 
and graceful. He had blue eyes and light-brown 
hair which he wore rather heavy about his head. 
In his dress he was somewhat fastidious, and after- 
ward certain people were inclined to make fun of his 
variety of neckties and light vests. But he always 
showed the best of taste. 

His father wished him to be a lawyer. But in 
the year that he graduated a new professorship 



26 

was founded at Bowdoin, the professorship of 
modern languages, and he was chosen to fill it. 
Before that, Latin and Greek had been considered 
the only languages worth studying. But French, 
German, Italian, and Spanish were demanding 
attention. 

The story is that, while a student in college, 
Longfellow had written a metrical translation of 
one of Horace's odes, which he had read at a gen- 
eral examination. One of the examiners, the 
Hon. Benjamin Orr, a distinguished lawyer of 
Maine, was greatly struck with this translation, 
which seemed to him especially beautiful. He 
was one of the board of trustees, and when the 
new professorship was created he nominated the 
future poet, speaking of this translation as evi- 
dence of his ability to fill the position. 

Longfellow was only nineteen years old, and the 
proposition came to him as a great surprise. As a 
preparation he was to be allowed to spend three 
years in Europe. By this time he was anxious to 
enter a literary career, and this seemed to be just 
the chance. His father consented and he pre- 



27 

pared to set out for Europe, though he did not 
start until the following spring. 

What his experiences were abroad, you may 
learn by reading " Outre -Mer." This book is 
partly a story, but in reality it describes Long- 
fellow's journeyings through Germany, France, 
Italy, and Spain. He went from New York on a 
slow sailing vessel; but his trip was a pleasant one, 
and he seemed always to be lucky, as he was 
through life. 

At last, at twenty-two, he found himself a pro- 
fessor in Bowdoin College, and quite a distin- 
guished young man. His "April Day" and 
' ' Woods in Winter, " two short poems, had been 
copied in many newspapers, and had even got 
into the reading books of that day. His name 
was not attached to any of these, and no one 
thought of him as a great poet. It must be re- 
membered that teaching was hereafter the business 
of his hfe; and a very faithful teacher he was. 
Up to this time, and for long afterward, he did 
not receive any money whatever for his poetry, 
though occasionally some was promised him. 



He studied very hard. He knew German thor- 
oughly well, and also French, Italian, Spanish, 
Swedish, Finnish, and even something of other 
modern languages. In those days people knew 
very little about these languages, and few sup- 
posed they had literature that was worth any- 
thing. Longfellow became a great scholar in 
them, however, and translated poetry from nearly 
all of them. If you look in his complete works you 
will find a great many poems marked as transla- 
tions from German, or Spanish, or Swedish, or 
some other language. Many of these were printed 
in learned essays which he wrote and published 
in the North America7i Review, 

He was very popular as a teacher. He seemed 
to the boys like one of themselves, and he was very 
sympathetic with them. Yet they all respected 
him, and treated him politely. They thought that 
he would some time be a famous man, and yet it 
seemed more as if he would be a great scholar, 
than a popular poet whom everybody, boys and 
girls as well as grown-up people, could under- 
stand and like. 



29 

CHAPTER VII 

THE "BEING BEAUTEOUS" 

When he had been a professor at Bovvdoin Col- 
lege but little over a year, Longfellow married a 
young lady named Mary Storer Potter. She was 
the daughter of a well-known judge who lived in 
Portland, and was something of a scholar too. It 
is said she was especially fond of mathematics, 
and had been taught to calculate eclipses. In 
those days girls were sent to school very little, 
and none of them ever went to college. The old 
Puritan fathers thought girls were better off at 
home doing housework. But Longfellow's wife 
was more fortunate. 

She was at the same time good-looking and very 
pleasant to every one; and so the young professor 
and his young wife were invited about a great deal, 
and everybody thought them a very happy pair. 

They were very happy together for two or three 
years; then Longfellow was asked to go to Har- 
vard College to be professor of modern languages 
there. To prepare for this new and more promi- 



30 

nent position he went to Europe again. Of course 
his wife went with him. They traveled about for 
some time; but she was not well, and finally she 
died. 

Most of the poem entitled • ' Footsteps of Angels " 
is about her, and it shows just what he thought of 
her. It is worth remembering that this is the 
poet's own real wife who died when they were both 
quite young. Here is a part of the poem. The 
last stanzas refer to her. 

When the hours of day are numbered, 

And the voices of the Night 
Wake the better soul, that slumbered, 

To a holy, calm delight ; 

Ere the evening lamps are lighted, 
And, like phantoms grim and tall, 

Shadows from the fitful firelight 
Dance upon the parlor wall ; 

Then the forms of the departed 

Enter at the open door; 

The beloved, the true-hearted. 

Come to visit me once more; 
****** 



3V 

And with them the Being Beauteous, 
Who unto my youth was given, 

More than all things else to love me, 
And is now a saint in heaven. 



With a slow and noiseless footstep 
Comes that messenger divine, 

Takes the vacant chair beside me, 
Lays her gentle hand in mine. 

And she sits and gazes at me, 
With those deep and tender eyes, 

Like the stars, so still and saint-like, 
Looking downward from the skies. 

Uttered not, yet comprehended, 
Is the spirit's voiceless prayer, 

Soft rebukes, in blessings ended, 
Breathing from her lips of air. 

Oh, though oft depressed and lonely. 
All my fears are laid aside. 

If I but remember only 

Such as these have lived and died! 



32 

CHAPTER VIII 

THE CRAIGIE HOUSE 

Longfellow came back from Europe and was 
installed as professor of modern languages and 
belles-lettres at Harvard College, in the beautiful 
town of Cambridge, two miles from Boston. Soon 
after he began his life there he went to live at the 
Craigie House, which has become so famous as the 
home of Longfellow that it deserves a little descrip- 
tion. 

It will be remembered that Longfellow was now 
a widower without children, his wife having died 
during his second journey to Europe. When he 
came to settle in Cambridge he was attracted by 
the spacious rooms and the quiet and aristocratic 
air of the Craigie House, famous as the head- 
quarters of Washington when he was in Cambridge 
as commander-in-chief during the Revolutionary 
War. George William Curtis has told the story 
of Longfellow's first visit to this house and how he 
came to live there, and we give it here very nearly 
in Mr. Curtis s own words. 



33 

In the summer of 1 83 7, a young man passed down 
the elm-shaded walk that separated the old Craigie 
House from the high road. Reaching the door he 
paused to observe the huge old-fashioned brass 
knocker and the quaint handle, relics, evidently, 
of an epoch of colonial state. To his mind, how- 
ever, the house, and these signs of its age, were 
not interesting from the romance of antiquity 
alone, but from their association with the early days 
of our Revolution, when General Washington, 
after the battle of Bunker Hill, had his headquar- 
ters in the mansion. Had his hand, perhaps, lifted 
the same latch, lingering, as he pressed it, in a 
whirl of myriad emotions? Had he, too, paused 
in the calm summer afternoon, and watched the 
silver gleam of the broad river in the meadows, 
the dreamy blue of the Milton hills beyond ? And 
had the tranquillity of that landscape penetrated 
his heart with ''the sleep that is among the hills," 
and whose fairest dream to him was a hope now 
realized in the peaceful prosperity of his country? 

He was ushered in and found himself face to 
face with Mrs. Craigie, a good old lady who had 



34 

seen better days. He asked if there was a room 
vacant in the house. 

*'I lodge no students, " was her reply. Long- 
fellow was so young-looking she took him to be 
a student. 

' 'I am not a student, " answered the visitor, ' 'but 
a professor in the university. " 

"A professor?" she inquired. She thought a 
professor ought to be dressed like a clergyman. 

''Professor Longfellow," continued the guest, 
introducing himself. 

"Ah! that is different," said the lady, her 
features slightly relaxing, as if professors were 
naturally harmless and she need no longer barri- 
cade herself behind a stern gravity of demeanor. 
"I will show you what there is." 

She preceded the professor upstairs, and going 
down the hall she stopped at each door, opened it, 
permitted him to perceive its delightful fitness for 
his purpose, then quietly closed the door, observ- 
ing, "You cannot have that." The professorial 
eyes glanced restlessly around the fine old-fashioned 
points of the mansion, marked the wooden carvings, 



35 

the air of opulent respectability in the past, which 
corresponds in New England to the impression of 
ancient nobility in Old England, and wondered if 
he were not to be permitted to have a room at all. 
The old lady at length opened the door of the 
southeast corner room in the second story; and 
while the guest looked wistfully in and awaited 
the customary "You cannot have that," he was 
agreeably surprised by hearing that he might 
have it. 

The room was upon the front of the house and 
overlooked the meadows to the river. It had an 
atmosphere of fascinating repose, in which the 
young man at once felt at home. 

''This, " said the lady, " was Washington's cham- 
ber." 

Here Longfellow lived for the rest of his life. 
He was merely a lodger in one of the rooms until 
he married the second time, six years after first 
going there. On his marriage his wife's father, Mr. 
Nathan Appleton, who was a rich old gentleman, 
bought the house and gave it to him as a wedding 
present, and also gave him the lot opposite, so 



36 

that no one should ever build a house that would 
shut off his view of the river Charles. 

It was the view from the front of this house that 
inspired the poet to write that beautiful poem, ' 'To 
the River Charles." How sweet and suggestive 
the opening verses, which note that he wrote the 
poem four years after he moved into the Craigie 
House! 

River! that in silence windest 

Through the meadows, bright and free, 

Till at length thy rest thou findest 
In the bosom of the sea! 

Four long years of mingled feeling, 

Half in rest, and half in strife, 
I have seen thy waters stealing 

Onward, like the stream of life. 

Thou hast taught me, Silent River! 

Many a lesson, deep and long; 
Thou hast been a generous giver; 

I can give thee but a song. 

It may be said that Joseph Worcester, who 
wrote Worcester's Dictionary, had once lived in 
this house, and Miss Sally Lowell, an aunt of 



37 

James Russell Lowell, as well as Jared Sparks, who 
wrote a great life of Washington and was president 
of Harvard College. Mr. Sparks and Edward 
Everett both brought their wives there when they 
were married. 

It seemed that Longfellow was always getting 
into famous houses. When he was at Bowdoin 
College he lived in the house in which "Uncle 
Tom's Cabin " was afterward written. It is said that 
Talleyrand, the famous French diplomat, and the 
Duke of Kent, Queen Victoria's father, had been 
entertained at dinner at the Craigie House when it 
belonged to the original owner. Colonel John Vassal. 



CHAPTER IX 



THE FIVE OF CLUBS 

Now began the finest years of Longfellow's life. 
It was in the early years at the Craigie House that 
he wrote the * ' Psalm of Life " and most of his 
other world-famous and world-loved poems, and it 
was here that he enjoyed his best friendships. 



38 

When he first came to Cambridge to see about 
accepting the professorship, he was introduced to 
Charles Sumner, the great lawyer, orator, and 
statesman, then a young man beginning to prac- 
tice law in Boston. The introduction took place in 
Professor Felton's rooms, who was also about the 
same age, that is, under thirty, and who as a Greek 
scholar and the writer of Greek textbooks has 
become famous. Felton was a big, good-natured 
fellow; and he and Charles Sumner at once took a 
fancy to Longfellow. As soon as the poet was 
settled in his new home a club was formed, con- 
sisting of Longfellow, Sumner, Felton, George S. 
Hillard ( Sumner's law partner ), and Henry R. 
Cleveland, who was also a teacher. These five, 
who called themselves "The Five of Clubs," met 
usually every Saturday afternoon in Longfellow's 
room, sometimes in Felton's, and occasionally in the 
law ofiices of Sumner and Hillard in Boston. 
They were all ambitious, all good fellows who 
met for a ''feast of reason," but who nevertheless 
knew how to have a royal good time. These meet- 
ings were kept up regularly for several years. 



39 

It was about this time that Longfellow's friend- 
ship for Hawthorne began. 

There were many other famous people here, 
too, with whom Longfellow formed life-long friend- 
ships. Holmes was becoming known as a young 
poet as well as medical professor in Harvard Col- 
lege, and Lowell, then a boy, was soon to come 
upon the scene, and at last to take Longfellow's 
professorship when Longfellow should resign. 

Charles Sumner was destined to be one of the 
great antislavery agitators, and it was chiefly to 
his influence that we owe Longfellow's poems on 
slavery. Longfellow was not of a very fiery nature. 
He did not get excited even in those hot times 
before the war, and Sumner had to urge him a 
long time before he composed the poems entitled 
'•The Slave's Dream," "The Slave in the Dismal 
Swamp, " and others on slavery. 

Emerson was also one of his friends, and so 
were several others among those who started the 
Brook Farm experiment. These people had taken a 
farm, and all had gone to live together on it, each 
doing a little work, and all doing a great deal of 



40 

talking. Some of Emerson's friends rather disliked 
Longfellow because he took no interest in this 
scheme, which proved a terrible failure. While 
he was intimate with the Brook Farm people, and 
always friendly as far as listening to them was con- 
cerned, he kept on the even tenor of his ways quite 
unmoved by their arguments. 



CHAPTER X 



LONGFELLOW BECOMES A FAMOUS POET 

When Longfellow went to live in Cambridge he 
was just thirty years old. He had not then writ- 
ten any of the poems that are famous to-day, but 
he began at once to produce most of those that we 
love best. A good many of them were sent to the 
Knickerbocker Magazine. One of them was the 
' ' Psalm of Life, " for which he was promised 
five dollars, which, however, was never paid him. 
A poem then called ' ' Floral Astrology, " but now 
known as ' ' Flowers, " was the first to have his full 



41 

name attached — "Harvard College, H, W. Long- 
fellow. " The ' 'Psalm of Life" was signed sim- 
ply * ' L. " Both of these poems and ' ' The Reaper 
and the Flowers " ( published in the same magazine 
in the same way, at the same price, which was 
never paid) had been copied into hundreds of news- 
papers and were public favorites without the author's 
being in the least known. His friends knew 
Longfellow wrote the poems, but the public did 
not. 

His cousin, John Owen, kept a bookstore in 
Cambridge. One day Owen went to him and told 
him he ought to have some of his poems printed 
in a little volume, and with his name. Longfellow 
objected to having his name appear, though he 
thought it might be a good idea to have the poems 
published if a publisher could be found. His 
cousin said he should like to publish them; to this 
Longfellow assented, but for some time refused 
to have his name appear. At last he said, "Well, 
bring them out in your own way!" That meant, 
with his name on the title page. 

That little volume, entitled "Voices of the 



42 

Night," and including the poems still printed in 
Longfellow's collected works under that title, was 
pubhshed in 1839, when Longfellow was thirty-two 
years old. It contained the ' ' Psalm of Life, " 
' ' The Reaper and the Flowers, " ' ' The Light of 
Stars, " ' ' Footsteps of Angels, " ' ' Flowers, " ' ' The 
Beleaguered City, " and ' ' Midnight Mass to the 
Dying Year." There were also some transla- 
tions, and a few of the poems he had published 
while in college. 

That book made Longfellow famous as a poet. 
A few critics found fault with it, but not many, and 
hundreds of others liked it and praised it. Long- 
fellow himself tells a pretty story of the ' ' Psalm 
of Life." " I was once riding in London," said he, 
' ' when a laborer approached the carriage and 
asked, 'Are you the writer of the ''Psalm of 
Life?"' 'I am.' 'Will you allow me to shake 
hands with you? ' We clasped hands warmly. 
The carriage passed on, and I saw him no more; 
but I remember that as one of the most gratifying 
compliments I ever received, because it was so 
sincere," 



43 

In a published letter from Charles Sumner, there 
is another touching story of the power this wonder- 
ful poem possesses over men. 

A man who had been very unlucky, an old class- 
mate of Sumner's, went to his office to prove some 
debts in bankruptcy. Sumner asked him what he 
read. He replied that he read very little; that he 
hardly found anything that was written from the 
heart and was really true. ' ' Have you read Long- 
fellow's Hyperion?" Sumner asked him. "Yes," 
he replied, ''and I admire it very much; I think 
it a very great book. " He then added in a very 
solemn manner, ' ' I think I may say that Longfel- 
low's ' Psalm of Life ' saved me from suicide. I 
first found it on a scrap of newspaper, in the 
hands of two Irish women, soiled and worn; and I 
was at once touched by it. " 

The Chinese translator and noted scholar, Tung 
Taj en, a great admirer of Longfellow, sent the 
poet a Chinese fan, upon which was inscribed in 
Chinese characters a translation of the ' ' Psalm of 
Life. " The fan is one of the folding kind, and the 
characters are inscribed on it in vertical columns. 



44 

An Englishman serving on the staff of the Amer- 
ican minister in China found this beautiful poem 
in Chinese and translated it back into English, not 
knowing that it had been written originally in Eng- 
lish. Here is a verse of the translation he made. 
You will scarcely recognize the familiar — 

Tell me not, in mournful numbers, 

Life is but an empty dream! 
For the soul is dead that slumbers, 

And things are not what they seem. 

AS TRANSLATED FROM THE CHINESE. 

Do not manifest your discontent in a piece of verse : 

A hundred years (of life) are, in truth, as one asleep (so 

soon are they gone) ; 
The short dream (early death), the long dream (death 

after long life), alike are dreams (so little is the 

body concerned; after death) 
There still remains the spirit (which is able to) fill the 

universe. 

The words in parenthesis were not in the Chinese 
and the translator supplied them to complete the 
sense in English. 



45 
CHAPTER XI 

HOW SOME OF THE GREAT POEMS WERE WRITTEN 

We have already often spoken of the ' 'Psalm of 
Life, " perhaps the greatest poem Longfellow ever 
wrote. He composed it in his room at the Craigie 
House, which had been Washington's chamber. 
The death of his young wife had afflicted him 
deeply, and one day as he sat between two win- 
dows, looking sadly out, this poem came into his 
mind and he wrote it. For a long time no one 
knew of its existence, and it was not until many 
months later that he sent it to be published. ''The 
Reaper and the Flowers" was written in much the 
same way, and ''The Light of Stars" was com- 
posed on a serene and beautiful summer evening, 
exactly suggestive of the poem. 

Longfellow himself tells how "The Wreck of 
the Hesperus" was written. Says he: 

"This is one of the poems which I like to recall. 
It floats in my mind again and again, whenever I 
read of some of our frightful storms on the coast. 
Away back in the year when the 'Voices of the 



46 

Night' was published, in the closing month of the 
year, the New England coast was lashed by a 
terrible tempest: and there were numerous ship- 
wrecks recorded. I remember reading in the 
newspapers one day of the loss of a schooner on 
the reef of Norman's Woe, called 'The Hesperus.' 
Norman's Woe is, as you are aware, a frowning 
mass of rocks, surrounded by the ocean, not far 
from Gloucester. It occurred to me to write a 
ballad, which I did some days afterwards, while I 
was sitting alone one night by the fire in the room 
above. " 

The fact is, after writing part of it he went to 
bed, and being unable to sleep, got up and wrote 
the remainder. 

"Excelsior" probably stands next to the ''Psalm 
of Life" as a popular favorite. One evening, also 
in that chamber of Washington's at the Craigie 
House, after he had been at a party, Longfellow 
caught sight of this word on a torn piece of news- 
paper. Lying near was a letter from Charles 
Sumner, and immediately he began to write on the 
back of this, crowding the stanzas in as best he 



47 

could. Later he carefully rewrote the poem, and 
changed it in many parts. The next time Sumner 
visited the Craigie House he was shown the letter, 
and he asked to have it back. Longfellow gave it 
him, and Sumner always kept it as a treasure. When 
he died he left ijt by will to Harvard College. 

Once in answer to a letter Longfellow gave the 
following explanation of the meaning of the 
poem: 

' 'My intention in writing it was no more than to 
display, in a series of pictures, the life of a man of 
genius, resisting all temptations, laying aside all 
fears, heedless of all warnings, and pressing right 
on to accomplish his purpose. His motto is *Ex- 
celsior ' — higher. He passes through the Alpine 
village, through the rough, cold paths of the world, 
where the peasants cannot understand him, and 
where his w^atchword is * an unknown tongue. ' He 
disregards the happiness of domestic peace, and 
sees the glaciers — his fate — -before him.. He dis- 
regards the warnings of the old man's wisdom and 
the fascinations of woman's love. He answers to 
all, 'Higher yet!' The monks of St. Bernard are 



48 

the representatives of religious forms and cere- 
monies; and with their oft-repeated prayer mingles 
the sound of his voice, telhng them there is some- 
thing higher than forms or ceremonies. Filled 
with these aspirations, he pushes forward; and the 
voice heard in the air is the promise of immortality 
and progress ever upward, without having reached 
the perfection he longed for." 

' 'The Village Blacksmith" is another poem with 
a history. It will be remembered that we have 
already said that Longfellow's great-grandfather 
was a blacksmith. The ' ' village smithy" ' 'under 
a spreading chestnut tree " — the one about which 
Longfellow wrote the poem, though his grandfather 
was never there — stood on Brattle Street, in Cam- 
bridge. After a time it had to be removed. Some 
of the branches were cut off the chestnut tree, 
that a dwelling-house might be put up, and it 
then looked so ugly that the town authorities 
ordered it to be cut down. 

This made Longfellow feel very sad. The year 
before he made a sketch of the shop and the tree, 
just as they stood, and this rough sketch has been 



49 

published. On the morning the tree was cut down, 
every one crowded out to see the choppers at work, 
and gaze at the tree as it tumbled over. 

On his seventy-second birthday the children of 
Cambridge presented Longfellow with an arm-chair 
made out of the wood of the old chestnut tree. It 
was a handsome chair, jet black and finely carved 
with horse chestnuts and leaves. Inscribed around 
it was a verse from the poem: 

And children coming home from school 

Look in at the open door; 
They love to see the flaming forge, 

And hear the bellows roar, 
And catch the burning sparks that fly 

Like chaff from a threshing-floor. 

The chair was upholstered in green leather, and 
there was a brass plate under the cushion, on which 
was inscribed: 

" To the aiLtJior of ' The Village Blacksmith,' 
this chair, made from the wood of the spreading 
chestnut tree, is presented as an expression of grate- 
ful regard and veneration by the children of Cam- 



50 

bridge, who, with their friends, join in the best 
wishes and congratidations on this anniversary, 
Feb. 2"/, iSyg." 

Longfellow was very much pleased by this and 
wrote a poem to the children, entitled ' ' From My 
Arm-chair." You may read it in any volume of 
his poems. 

One more poem of which we must speak is 
* 'The Skeleton in Armor. " Said Longfellow once, 
' 'This ballad was suggested to me while riding on 
the seashore at Newport. A year or two previous 
a skeleton had been dug up at Fall River, clad in 
broken and corroded armor; and the idea occurred 
to me of connecting it with the round tower at 
Newport, generally known, hitherto, as the Old 
Windmill, though now claimed by the Danes as 
a work of their early ancestors. " 

When the poem was written some of Longfel- 
low's friends, probably the members of that ' 'Five 
of Clubs," thought it was beneath his dignity; but 
others were so enthusiastic about it that when one 
of them read it aloud to him very appreciatively 
he sprang to his feet and embraced him, and paid 



51 

no more attention to the criticisms. He was think- 
ing about the subject, after his visit to the skeleton 
that had been dug up, for more than a year before 
the poem flashed into his mind. 



CHAPTER Xn 



THE POETS SECOND MARRIAGE 

You will remember that at the time his first 
wife died Longfellow was in Holland. For a long 
time after that he kept very much secluded, and 
in the ' ' Footsteps of Angels " we have seen how 
deeply the thought of his first wife was impressed 
on his memory. But while he was traveling in 
Switzerland the year after her death, he met Mr. 
Nathan Appleton, a rich man of Boston who was 
traveling with his family. His daughter Frances 
Elizabeth was very beautiful and had many admir- 
ers. Perhaps Longfellow fell in love with her then, 
but if he did, it was doubtless because she seemed 
very cold toward him. 



52 

When he got back to Cambridge and was set- 
tled in the Craigie House, he wrote a sort of novel 
entitled ''Hyperion," which, like " Outre-Mer", 
described his journeyings in Europe, but which 
also had a romantic love story, in which most 
people thought that the hero, Paul Flemming, a 
young American man of letters, was Longfellow 
himself and the heroine, Mary Ashburton, was 
Miss Appleton. In the story, Mary Ashburton 
refused Paul Flemming's offer of marriage. It is 
not probable, however, that Longfellow said any- 
thing about love at that time; but when the novel 
was published and became popular it was whis- 
pered about that the young lady was very indignant. 

Nevertheless, the Appletons and Longfellow had 
had a very pleasant time together in Europe. 
Once they stopped at the hotel called ' ' The 
Raven." It was in the town of Zurich. First 
Mr. Appleton wrote his name in the register with 
some compliment to the house. Then the land- 
lord presented a very long bill, which made Mr. 
Appleton angry and he was vexed because he had 
written something comphmentary to the house. 



53 

* ' But I have not written my name, " said Mr. 
Longfellow; **and, if you will allow me, I will 
treat the innkeeper as he deserves. " 

He took the register, and this is what he wrote 
in it: 

Beware of the Raven of Zurich! 

'Tis a bird of omen ill, 
With a noisy and unclean nest, 
And a very, very long bill. 

Longfellow went home first, and for six or seven 
years lived, as we have seen, in Cambridge; but 
later he often visited Pittsfield, where the Apple- 
ton summer mansion was and where Miss Frances 
Ehzabeth was staying, and there she finally con- 
sented to be his wife. They were married, and 
Mr. Appleton bought the Craigie House and pre- 
sented it to them to keep house in. 

Longfellow had five children, two sons and 
three daughters. When the Appletons lived at 
Lynn, one of the sons, Charles, was tipped over 
while in a sailboat and of course got soaking wet. 
In place of his shoes Mr. Appleton gave him a 
pair of old slippers. Longfellow returned them 



54 

later with this parody of his own ' ' Psalm of 
Life " : 

Slippers that perhaps another, 

Sailing o'er the Bay of Lynn, 
A forlorn or shipwrecked nephew, 

Seeing, may purloin again. 

His daughters, who became the comfort of his 
old age, are beautifully referred to in the poem 
called "The Children's Hour" : 

I hear in the chamber above me 

The patter of little feet, 
The sound of a door that is opened, 

And voices soft and sweet. 

From my study I see in the lamp light, 

Descending the broad hall stair, 
Grave Alice, and laughing AUegra, 

And Edith with golden hair. 

In 1 86 1, twenty years before the poet himself 
died, Mrs. Longfellow was burned to death. She 
was sitting at her library table amusing her two 
youngest children by making seals. A bit of the 
burning wax fell on her light gauze dress, which 
was in a moment all aflame. She cried out, and 



55 

Longfellow came running from the next room and 
threw a rug about her; but she was so burned that 
she soon died, though several doctors came almost 
immediately. Longfellow himself was also fright- 
fully burned, but not dangerously. 

This, and the death of his other wife, were the 
two great sorrows of his life. Except for these 
two misfortunes, it would seem as though he were 
always fortunate, living, as it were, in a bed of 
roses — always successful, never poor, never discon- 
tented with his lot. But after the death of his 
second wife he was very gloomy for a long time. 

It may be said that the sadness of the deaths 
of both wives made him write some of his best 
poems. 

Three years after the death of Mrs. Longfellow, 
Hawthorne died. 

Longfellow wrote a beautiful poem called * ' Haw- 
thorne," which closes with this stanza: 

Ah ! who shall lift that wand of magic power, 

And the lost clew regain? 
The unfinished window in Aladdin's tower, 

Unfinished must remain ! 



56 
CHAPTER XIII 



OF MILES STANDISH 

After his first marriage we have seen that Long- 
fellow wrote his most famous short poems. After 
his second marriage he wrote his most famous long 
poems. The first was ' ' Evangeline. " It was 
published in 1847, four years after his marriage; 
but he had been a long time writing it. He once 
wrote, ' ' I had the fever burning a long time in my 
brain before I let my hero take it. * Evangeline ' 
is so easy for you to read, because it was so hard 
for me to write." 

The story of the Acadians is a familiar one. 
Acadia was the French name for Nova Scotia. 
But after the French had settled there the English 
claimed the land as having been discovered by 
John Cabot. There was much fighting between 
the French and English over the disputed ground, 
and finally the English made a settlement of their 
own at Halifax ; but the country villages were 
made up mostly of the French. At last the rights 



57 

of the English to the territory were acknowledged 
by the French government; but in the treaty that 
was made it was provided that the French settlers 
should not be obliged to pay taxes or take up arms 
against their fellow Frenchmen. Most of them 
also refused to take the customary oath of alle- 
giance to the King of England. 

To make up for the loss of this territory the 
French erected fortifications at Louisburg and 
Cape Breton, and they encouraged the Indians to 
keep up a raiding warfare on the English settle- 
ments. In this border warfare the English 
claimed that the French ' ' neutrals " (as the 
Acadians were called) acted as spies and stirred up 
the Indians to revenge. 

At last in 1755, a few years before the Ameri- 
can Revolution, the colony of Massachusetts pro- 
posed an expedition against Acadia, and the British 
government fitted it out. They captured the 
neighboring French forts, and all the American 
people rejoiced at the easy victory. Then came 
the question. What should they do with those 
treacherous ' 'neutrals," who were British subjects 



58 

though they would not swear allegiance to Great 
Britain, and in heart and act remained loyal to 
France after France had been beaten off the 
ground. 

' ' Scatter them through all the British colonies ! " 
ordered the governor. 

Accordingly, eighteen thousand of them were 
shipped off wherever it happened to be convenient 
to send them, and in such haste that families were 
separated, mothers and children parted, lovers torn 
from each other, and all thrown into a new world 
without money or property of any kind; for their 
houses and barns were burned, their crops de- 
stroyed, their money and goods confiscated. It 
was a horrible retribution for a very natural and 
simple-mined loyalty to their own native land 
and government. 

A friend of Hawthorne's heard a story of a young 
couple who were about to be married on the day 
the proclamation was made; but as the young men 
were separated from their friends and families to 
prevent their taking up arms for their defense, the 
two were sent to different colonies, and spent the 



59 

rest of their lives in a vain search for each other. 
At last they meet in a hospital, where the hero is 
dying. The story was offered to Hawthorne for a 
novel, but he did not care for it. One day when 
the friend, Hawthorne, and Longfellow were dining 
together, the story was told again to Longfellow 
and he was very much touched by it, especially by 
the constancy of the heroine. 

* ' If you are not going to use it for a novel, 
give it to me for a poem," said Longfellow; and 
Hawthorne gladly consented. 

The heroine of the poem was at first called 
Gabrielle; and the poet located the scene of the 
climax at a poorhouse in Philadelphia, with the 
charming surroundings of which he had been fas- 
cinated years before. While waiting for the 
saiHng of the packet for Europe at the time of his 
first voyage, he wandered up Spruce street, where 
his attention was attracted to a large building with 
trees about it, inside of a high enclosure. He 
walked along to the great gate and stepped inside. 
The charming picture of a lawn, flower beds, and 
shade which it presented made an impression 



6o 

which never left him. When twenty-four years 
afterward he came to write ' ' Evangehne, " he 
located the final scene at this poorhouse, and the 
burial in an old Catholic graveyard not far away, 
which he had found by chance on another walk at 
the same period. 

His next great poem was ' ' Hiawatha. " For ten 
years Longfellow had been thinking about writing an 
Indian poem. At last a young man who had been 
a pupil in one of his classes came back from the 
West, where he had been living among the Indians. 
One day while he was dining with the poet, he 
told many of his experiences among the red men. 
Longfellow was very much impressed, and looked 
about for a book where he might read old Indian 
legends. He found that a Mr. Schoolcraft had 
published such a book, entitled ' 'Algic Researches. " 
For three years, he says, he read and reread this 
volume. At last he began to write, and composed 
nearly five hundred lines, when he changed 
his mind and destroyed what he had written. 
He began again and continued writing to the 
end. 



6i 

When *' Hiawatha" was pubHshed, some critics 
claimed that it was stolen from a Finnish poem, 
and a great many people said unpleasant things 
about it. Already Poe had written very un- 
kindly of '' Evangeline," as he seemed to be jeal- 
ous of Longfellow's success. But both "Evange- 
line" and '* Hiawatha" soon became immensely 
popular, thousands of copies being sold and 
read. 

Two years after "Hiawatha" appeared, the 
Atlantic Monthly was started. Longfellow, 
Holmes, Whittier, Emerson, Prescott and others, 
were called together at a dinner, and Lowell was 
chosen editor of the magazine. After the period- 
ical was started and became so famous, the men 
who wrote for it met regularly once a month at a 
dinner. Longfellow was a contributor and an 
attendant at the dinners for a long time. 

The year after the Atlantic Monthly was 
started, "The Courtship of Miles Standish " was 
published as a little volume. The poem professes 
to be a love poem, but the love is not so warm and 
sincere as that in the songs of Robert Burns. 



62 

CHAPTER XIV 

THE GOOD OLD MAN 

Longfellow was one of the best-natured men in 
the world. He was always pleasant and obliging 
to everybody who came to see him. He wrote 
his autograph for all the children who asked 
him. Once there was a school celebration in his 
honor. He was present and made a beautiful little 
speech, in which, among other things, he thanked 
the children of Cambridge for the arm-chair. 
When the exercises were over the children crowded 
about him and he wrote his name in their albums 
until he could write no more, his hand was so tired. 
But he told those who had not got his autograph 
that he would write it for them if they would come 
around to his house. 

Many children went to see him on other occa- 
sions, and he was always very kind to them. Every- 
body loved him. 

We have mentioned many of the men who were 
his friends. Another was Professor Agassiz, the 
great scientist and professor at Harvard College, 



63 

who was a warm and intimate friend of Longfel- 
low's. 

After a time these friends began, one by one, to 
die. Agassiz died, Sumner died, and a number of 
others. Hawthorne had died some years before. 

Longfellow lived a sad life after the terrible acci- 
dent that killed his wife, and was getting to be a 
very old man. Every one tried to honor him. He 
knew that he was accounted the greatest poet 
America had produced. His sons and daughters 
were about him and took excellent care of him. 
Nevertheless, he began to weary of life a little, 
and longed to join the dear ones who had gone 
before. 

It is autumn ; not without, 

But within me is the cold. 
Youth and spring are all about ; 
It is I that have grown old. 

He still wrote many beautiful poems, such as 
the "Tales of a Wayside Inn," "Keramos, " and 
others. He even wrote a poem on the death of 
Garfield a short time before he himself died. But 
none of these poems became as famous as those he 



64 

had written in earlier years in the prime of his 
manhood. 

At last, on the 24th of March, 1882, he died, and 
the whole country went into mourning for him. 

His soul to him who gave it rose ; 
God lead it to its long repose, 

Its glorious rest! 
And though the poet's sun has set, 
Its light shall linger round us yet, 

Bright, radiant, blest. 



Note.— The thanks of the publishers are due Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin & Co. 
for their kind permission to use selections from the copyrighted works of I^ong- 
fellow. 



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